Take Your Pokémon to School Day
by The Jade Draconian
Summary: My friends and I took our Pokémon to school. Things didn't go so well... Please review!
1. Chapter 1

"Looks like ma'am forgot about us again," I stated, surveying the conspicuous space at the front of the classroom that was lacking a teacher.

"It's not the first time," Travis, sitting behind me, noted.

I swivelled around in my chair to face him and Chad. "So what're you guys doing?"

Chad looked at me, headphone in his one ear, cellphone in his hands, and replied, "Watching anime."

I only had to glance at Travis to see what he was doing – namely, filling his English book with sketches. Business as usual, then.

I was very happy, for it was the day – the one day a year when those people who were that way inclined obtained the privilege of bringing three Pokémon to school. You _used_ to be able to take the full team of six, but after the school library was destroyed… well, you get the idea.

"So did you guys bring Pokémon to school today?"

They both nodded. 'So?" I asked, "What've you guys got?"

Chad reached into his pocket and drew out three Pokéballs.

Travis did likewise.

"Uh, guys," I said, a nasty suspicion creeping into my head, "you _did_ follow the rules, right?"

They both looked at me blankly, until Travis asked, "There are rules?"

I put in my head in my hands and muttered, "Arceus help me."

"Yes," I said to answer his question, rummaging in my bag to find the appropriate document, "there are rules."

I had soon located it, and passed it on to Travis and Chad. As they read it, I went over to Michael and Deonaé, hoping to find someone slightly more aware of regulations.

"You brought Pokémon, I presume?" I asked as I sat down.

They both nodded.

"So, what've you got?"

Deonaé was the first to answer, "Charmander, Staraptor and Wobbuffet."

I had to bite my tongue – I didn't want to insult her, but in my opinion, that was quite possibly the single most awful Pokéteam imaginable.

Even though, I had to admit one thing – at least all her Pokés were within the regulations.

"And you, Michael?"

He smiled, "Check for yourself."

I took out my Pokédex (most of my friends have expensive, imported Pokédexes, whereas I have the ordinary red Kanto model, albeit with a Bulbasaur decal) and scanned for nearby ETC's. (For the few of you poor, unprivileged people out there who do not own a Pokédex, it is simply a function that looks for any Electronic Trainer Cards nearby. These will then give you the basic information of a trainer – their name (or the name they input; some people use a pseudonym) and the Pokémon they are carrying at that point in time. The actual ETC itself is unremarkable – it looks just like an ordinary piece of cardboard, even though it is really an invaluable piece of equipment.)

"Um... there's no 'Michael' here." I said somewhat uncertainly.

He leaned over my shoulder to look at the list of names that had appeared. "That one," he said, pointing to one.

I sniggered. "The Ninja? Really, Michael?"

"Look at my team. Then you'll get it."

I scanned over his team – and almost choked.

"This – this – team…"

"Pretty cool, right?"

I closed my eyes and tried to stop my eyebrows before they started twitching furiously. "Yeah, I guess. But…" I glared at him. "Not one of them fits inside the regulations!"

He nodded. "I know. But since when does a ninja follow the rules?"

I banged my head on the desk with a loud thud. Just as I was about to berate him on his utter stupidity (I mean, really – a Scyther, Aggron and Sneasel – that was downright dangerous) when I heard the synchronised opening of two Pokéballs from behind me.

I turned to see where the noise had come from, and saw two Eevees frolicking on Chad and Travis's desks. The one that belonged to Travis was a well-groomed, healthy specimen, but it was Chad's one that drew my attention and caused me to move myself across the classroom in order to get a better look at it.

"Wow," I breathed, looking at it in awe.

"Where did you possibly," I asked, reaching a hand out to stroke the glossy coat, "find a shiny Eevee?"

The pure white Eevee swished its fluffy tail and scampered off across the desk to join Travis's one.

Chad grinned. "I didn't."

"You didn't what?"

"I didn't find a shiny Eevee."

"Did you buy it, then?"

He shook his head.

"Then what…" My brain was whirring, trying desperately to find an answer. I reached out to stroke it again and on a whim, quickly hit a pressure point between the second and third vertebrae of the spine. As I had suspected, the outlines of the Eevee melted away to reveal a perfectly blue Ditto.

"How did you do that?" Travis asked.

I raised one fist in the air in triumph. "Pokémon Biology rules!"

"But now I'm more curious than ever," I said, turning to Chad, "However did you manage to get your hands on a shiny Ditto?"

"He was a present from nature," Chad explained. "He clung to my backpack while I was walking and he didn't want to let go. Because I have a blue backpack and it's the same colour as he is, you see. And then we became best friends."

"Anyway, what else have you guys got?"

"Absol and Charizard." Chad replied.

I simply shook my head silently. He _really_ hadn't paid any attention to the rules.

"Charizard? You've fully evolved your starter?"

"Of course. Haven't you?"

I shook my head, "Wouldn't want to." A thought occurred to me, "How much time did you spend training?"

"A lot."

"And you?" I asked, turning to Travis.

"Only one of my other two fits within the rules,' Travis explained, as he threw a Pokéball into the air.

As it hit the desk, it opened to reveal – a Cyndaquil.

"Oh, right. I forgot," I said as Cyndaquil started play-wrestling with Eevee, "you're from Johto. You stay in hostel here, right?"

He nodded, "Kanto's far cooler than Johto."

I glanced down at the wrestling pair on his desk, "They're both so darn cute!" Then I smiled, remembering whom I had brought, "But I know a Pokémon that's even cuter!"

Bulbasaur shook himself as I released him and jumped into my arms, happily yelling "Bulbasaur!"

"Hey Jade," I heard Travis say, and I looked up to be greeted by a wide grin.

"No."

"No what?"

"No, I will not have a Pokémon battle with you. Not here, anyway."

"How –"

"How did I know? Easy – you've got a Cyndaquil, which is Fire-type. I have Bulbster here – who is Grass. Purely thinking about types, you assumed you would win in an impromptu match. Am I right?"

"You're so right it's scary." Travis commented, "But, what did you mean, 'not here'?"

"Not indoors. Bulbasaur'll wreck the place."

"He can't be that strong –"

"He knows Solar Beam. Besides, have you heard of my unique move Razor Whip?"

"Razor _what_?"

"Razor Whip. Combination of Razor Leaf and Vine Whip in one attack. Really powerful. Ask Amy." In order to get some backup, I called to Amy, who was sitting on the other side of the classroom, with a Bellossom dancing on her desk.

"Hey Amy! Tell Travis that Razor Whip is a really strong move!"

"It is!" she yelled back, "My Leafeon was lacerated!"

"Well, if I could use my third Pokémon, I'm sure I could beat you."

"Really? Pray tell, what is this mystical, all-powerful third Pokémon that doesn't fit within the rules?"

He didn't answer in words – instead his pencil flew gracefully over the paper, forming a sketch of the Pokémon in question. I couldn't help but smile – this answer was so very _Travis_.

I leaned over, trying to determine what it was before he was finished. The only thing that I managed to see before he moved his body to shield it from my prying eyes was a very serpentine-looking body.

Of course, my brain went and immediately listed all the serpentine-looking Pokémon that I could. Serperior? Yeah, but it evolves from Snivy – a starter Pokémon, so it couldn't be that, as Travis already had a Cyndaquil, and one is only entitled to one starter Pokémon in one's life.

Ekans or Arbok? Unlikely – Ekans fit within the rules, and Travis didn't seem to be the kind of guy to own a Poison-type, venom-spitting Arbok.

Seviper? Maybe, but they were very rare in Johto (or Kanto, for that matter – the one that I fought the other day with Bulbasaur was a fluke).

And then, of course, there was – but he couldn't have – could he?

I shook my head as my well of inspiration ran dry. Luckily for me, however, Travis had just finished his sketch, so any further speculation was unnecessary.

And it turns out that my final guess was right.

"What – how – wait – WHAT!?"

I closed my eyes and breathe, trying to get my thoughts in order.

"How did you manage to obtain a –" I glanced around to make sure no-one was watching and leaned in closer, my voice dropping to a whisper, "Where did you get a _Dragonair_!?"

"I got it as a Dratini, actually. It took an awful lot of grinding until it evolved."

"Ok, fine. Where did you manage to get a Dratini?!"

"That's classified."

I shook my head and decided to drop the subject, although I could hardly believe it. A _Dragonair_, of all things! An ultra-rare Dragon-type!

"Anyways, aren't you guys curious to find out what other Pokés I have?"

Neither of them replied. It was a rhetorical question anyway, so I delved into my pockets and reached for my other two Pokéballs.

"Behold! Darkfyre," my Houndoom growled at them before I returned him to his Pokéball (there were some superstitious people in my class, and I didn't want them to freak out – even though they'd freak out a lot more if they caught sight of Chad's Absol), "and Sandslash!"

I never even got to release her (yes, I have a female Sandslash) from her Pokéball, as the door burst open and I heard the mechanical _click_ of a gun being readied.


	2. Chapter 2

Of course I recognised the insignia on his shirt. I don't think anyone in either Kanto or Johto wouldn't – after all, a red R on a back background is pretty unique.

"Everyone cooperates," he said, pointing his gun about menacingly, "And no-one gets hurt."

No-one made a sound. No-one moved. He nodded to his four companions outside, who came in.

The person who had first appeared swiftly moved along the rows, ordering people to return Pokémon to their Pokéballs, and stuffing the Pokéballs into the black backpack that he carried, while the other four trained their guns on us the whole time.

I suppose they thought that one of us might try to be heroic.

However, not even a class full of 18-year-old (well, most were 18; my birthday still hadn't arrived yet) Pokémon trainers would dare to stand up to five members of Team Rocket. Even Michael, the self-proclaimed Ninja, gave his Pokémon up without any complaint.

As he approached me, I felt my heart rate increase. I had seen (or at least seen pictures of) all 719 and Bulbasaur was still my number one favourite Pokémon.

And now… I had to give Bulbster up to these guys… the deplorable Team Rocket.

I briefly thought about hiding Bulbster under the desk and handing over an empty Pokéball, but decided against it – these people were far too vigilant.

I had come up with my plan even before I handed in my three Pokéballs and watched them leave, a knot of fear and anticipation clenched in my stomach.

I didn't say anything for fear that they might still be listening. However, my determined expression did not go unnoticed by my fellow matric Pokéstudents and soon notes were being passed along, detailing my plan. Many people thought I was insane (no change there), but their sentiments for their Pokémon were very similar to my own, so eventually they all agreed to what seemed to be an awful idea.

Of course, my whole plan hinged on the fact that Michael could be as ninja-like as he purported himself to be. Which, I will admit, was more than a little worrisome – I had only heard stories of Michael's quote-unquote "legendary" exploits, most of them from "The Ninja" himself. So I had no clue whether he could actually pull it off or not.

In the end however, after numberless notes of verification had been passed around (including a very large and rather impressive certificate with Unown writing on it) I decided to put my faith in him.

The people involved in my plan were myself, Michael, Deonaé, Chad, Travis and Amy, who said that she would notify Jondré later when we actually put my plan into action, and someone (I cannot recall who) pointed out what they thought was a major flaw: _So you plan to find the Team Rocket base?_

_Yip._

_And how exactly do you intend to do that?_

They obviously hadn't reckoned at my pure genius. I smiled and took my Pokédex out as an explanation and turned to the ETC tracking page. (Do I have to explain this too? You poor people who do not own Pokédexes. You have my pity. Anyway, each ETC has its own ID number in case you lose it, and you can use this ID number to track your ETC. I guess this means that in theory, you can track anyone's ETC, but most people keep their ID number secret.) I had already saved my ETC's ID number in my Pokédex, so it was a simple matter of bringing up the page. As I showed it to them, all I got were blank looks in return. That is, until my ETC visibly moved.

_You're not moving_, someone wrote,_ so how?_

I smiled as I scribbled my reply: _I gave Bulbasaur my ETC to hold before I returned him to his Pokéball._

Later that day, we all met up at a predetermined meeting point (school had been cancelled soon after the stolen Pokés incident, so maybe an hour had elapsed between Bulba being stolen and our meeting).

As everyone arrived, I made a mental note of all people present. I half expected some people to bail as Team Rocket was a force to be reckoned with. However, that didn't seem to be happening, as everyone arrived – with one very noticeable exception.

"Alright," I said, trying to keep the annoyance out of my voice, "Where's the Ninja?"

"Right here," I heard a voice that was unmistakably Michael's come from somewhere behind me. I turned around to face him – and he wasn't there.

Instinct told me that he was right behind me before he could say anything and I swiftly turned around before he could vanish again.

"You're good," he commented from the shadows. My eyes must have skimmed right over him, for I couldn't see where he was at all.

"You're better," I remarked, "And would you kindly show yourself?"

Michael obligingly stepped out into the sunlight and I didn't know whether to laugh out loud or stand in awe, for he was wearing an Assassins-Creed-esqe type robe, except it was pitch black instead of white. While this was very epic-looking in itself, seeing it on Michael just – I dunno – there was just something inherently funny about it. (I also may or may not have been incredibly stressed about breaking into the base and just needed some way to relieve the tension.) Leastways, it was funny when I first saw it, but then when he turned away from me to face the others and I caught sight of the very long sword he had strapped onto his back, I realised that we were seriously doing this.

We were really going to break into Team Rocket's base.

And I was really the one who had started it.

"Alright, guys," I said, trying to sound confident (while inside I was realising that we might not come out of this unscathed), "What have you got in the form of defence?"

When I got no reply, I elaborated, "Pokémon."

"Pikachu!" Deonaé exclaimed.

"Lame," Travis, Chad and I all said simultaneously (we couldn't have timed it better if we'd rehearsed it).

Travis then said, "The Pokémon Transporter between Johto and Kanto is broken."

I felt a chill down my spine as I asked, "So…"

"I don't have any Pokémon with me. They're all back home."

"Can't you keep Pokés in hostel?"

He shook his head, "This week was an exception. Otherwise, no."

I came very close to swearing then – statistically, there was a very high chance that he was gonna die.

I turned hopefully to Amy, "And you?"

As she opened her mouth to reply, Jondré protectively threw an arm around her shoulders, "She doesn't need Pokémon when she's got me."

"And what've you got to protect yourself and Amy?"

His smile said it all, "My psychic powers, of course."

"Yes, but can that stand up against bullets?"

"I… don't know."

"Well, I guess that it's not exactly the kinda thing you get the opportunity to test on an everyday basis."

"That's actually been bothering me," Deonaé said, "Don't Team Rocket only use Pokémon and not guns?"

"Where have you been the past few years?" I asked incredulously. "Everyone knows Team Rocket is so cruel that the only Pokémon they could get to cooperate with them did so unwillingly and thus were not very capable in battle. Therefore they switched to firearms."

I sighed, "Anyway, does that mean that you don't have any Pokémon either, Jondré?"

He nodded.

"Michael?"

"You informed me that top stealth was needed. Any unnecessary objects would only hinder me."

"Fair 'nough. So far, only you and Travis have plausible reasons."

Deonaé said, "But –"

"Pikachu is not a suitable defense," I interrupted.

"Last one," I said, turning to Chad, "You have…?"

"None," he said, "I forgot."

"What've _you_ got?" he asked me, out of the blue.

"Nidoking."

"Wow. I didn't think you'd be the kinda person to have a Poison-type."

"Bulbasaur's part Poison-type," I pointed out. "And Poisonpowder has carried me through a lot of tough battles."

It was about then that I realised that I was stalling, so I started following the ETC's signal. As we all walked through the crowded streets of Celadon city, I explained to them all how I had obtained my Nidoking (I was stressed beyond belief, and talking helps me to relax).

"My family visited the Safari Zone in Fushia a year ago, and I caught a Nidorino. As you all know, I collect fossils and rocks. Often I only find normal rocks, but sometimes I find an evolutionary stone. This was the case: I caught Nidorino, threw my Moon Stone at him and kapow – Nidoking."

"Well anyway," I said, glancing at my Pokédex, "Looks like they're inside this building."

I looked up at the building sign – and lost all hope.

"How are we ever gonna get in here?!" I exclaimed, listing everyone's age mentally: Jondré, Michael, Deonaé and Chad were all 18. Only Travis, Amy and myself weren't.

"You've never been in?" Travis asked.

I glared at him before turning my attention once more to the Celadon Casino and Pub, "I'm not 18 yet," I pointed out, "And neither are you."

"Rules are for amateurs."

Time was of the essence here – we'd all heard what Team Rocket did to the Pokémon they captured and none of us wished that fate on our Pokés.

We needed a plan; and we needed one fast. After saying as much out loud, everyone went silent and stared at me.

"What?" I asked. And in the instant that I asked, I realised what they wanted.

"Wait," I said, before anyone could reply, "You want me to come up with a plan, right?"

They all nodded.

_Well, it makes sense_, I thought to myself, as I started pacing (pacing always helps me to think). _After all, I am the smartest person here (at least by Top Twenty rank)._

After only a few minutes, I determined that entry by either the front or back doors would take too long, and be too risky (seeing as three of us were underage and all).

That left entry by going either over – or under. Under seemed like the better plan at first – all I needed to do was open a Fissure under the building using my Nidoking.

However, upon closer inspection, that idea didn't seem so good; mostly because the entire building might collapse and that would defeat the entire purpose of getting inside in the first place.

Only one way in, then. Through the roof.


	3. Chapter 3

The time that elapsed from the instant we entered the roof, found a ladder, arrived in the casino, flipped the secret switch behind a poster on the wall and revealed a staircase was approximately forty-five minutes (I don't wish to bore you with the details).

Anyway, to cut a long story short, we were in.

We were all crouched on the staircase, hiding behind the banister in case we were seen by any Rocket grunts.

"_Man,"_ I thought, _"The probability of us succeeding is one in a million."_

And then I smiled, as I remembered the quote from Terry Pratchett, _"But magicians have calculated that million-to-one chances crop up nine times out of ten."_

"_Screw the odds,"_ I thought, _"Let's just do this thing!"_

I was about to race down the remainder of the stairs, and charge gallantly at the Rocket grunts we could see (three, to be precise), when I was yanked back.

"Don't do anything too crazy," Chad, who had been the one to stop me, whispered.

"I can't help it," I replied, "I am an insane person. Anyway what do you propose we do?"

"Attack," was Michael's one-word reply.

I had to resist a strong urge to bang my head loudly against the wall. "Rephrase: _How_ do you propose we attack? We only have two Pokémon; one of which is the overrated, completely useless Pikachu – shut up," I continued, before Deonaé could defend her Pokémon's reputation, "And the other is the very large, very heavy Nidoking –"

"Aggron is both larger _and _heavier; I'd beat you in a fight," Michael interrupted (the question of Nidoking vs Aggron had been a point of debate between us for quite some time).

"– Which, if I release him in this cramped space," I continued, completely ignoring the interruption, "Will squish either us or the Rocket grunts."

"So? Just squish the grunts." Travis stated.

"I don't want to go to jail for homicide, thank you very much."

"I can go after 'em," Michael commented.

It certainly seemed like the best course of action, so I nodded. "Alright." And as he expertly leapt over the stair rail, rolling on impact with the floor and reached up to the hilt of his sword, I yelled out after him, "Just remember to _not_ kill them!"

The first one was easy – Michael caught him completely by surprise and he went down like a sack of potatoes when the hilt of the sword collided with the back of his head.

However, now the other two knew about the attack, and were firing (Team Rocket certainly handled guns better than they handled Pokémon). I wasn't worried so much about Michael as about us, as we were in quite serious danger of being hit by ricocheting bullets.

"Jondré," I said, not bothering to whisper anymore (it would have been impossible to hear me over the sound of the gunfire anyway), "Can you try creating a Psychic shield next time one comes this way? Just to see if it can indeed hold up."

Not even a full minute after I had spoken, a chance came by to test his powers. And it turns out that, while his shields are strong enough to withstand large, fairly slow forces (for example, the rebound energy caused by two Solar Beams colliding), it cannot withstand small, fast forces (for example, a bullet).

"Well," I commented, as I heard a thud in the background, which was most probably the sound of another grunt succumbing to Michael's ninja skills, "At least now we know, instead of trying it out in a narrow corridor when the bullets were actually aimed at us, and not the wall."

After a small time lapse, I heard another thud, and we all took that as our cue to come out from hiding.

We searched the entire area, but didn't find even a single Pokéball.

"Now what?" Travis asked, rather dejectedly, "I miss my epic flying Dragonair."

"Dragonairs cannot fly," I pointed out.

"They can."

"I'm pretty sure they cannot…"

"Ten bucks says they can."

"You're on," I said, shaking hands.

"_So,"_ I thought, _"there's no Pokémon here. That means they must be somewhere else."_

"Maybe there's another floor?" I continued my thoughts aloud. (The only staircase we had found in our search was the one leading back up to the casino, although there were remnants of others.)

"I found an elevator," Deonaé helpfully said.

"Why didn't you say so?!" I exclaimed, wondering why this important discovery had been kept from me.

"Which way?" Deonaé indicated the direction and I strode off before she could say another word.

"But," she called out after me, "there's kinda a problem…"

I had reached the elevator in question before she had finished her sentence and one glance was all I needed to see the crisis.

"Pikachu," I said, holding my left hand out to receive the electric rat while I crouched in front of the obstacle.

"But why –?"

"Explanation later; Pikachu now."

I soon felt the cold metal of the Pokéball pressed into my palm. After I had chucked it into the air to release the useless Pokémon (I couldn't believe I had been reduced to relying on Pikachu), I glanced at my Pokédex to check its moveset and sighed in relief. _"Good,"_ I thought, _"It _does_ know Iron Tail."_

I turned my attention once more to the card-key security lock system that the elevator had and started to explain as I worked.

"Cards like these work with a magnetic strip," I said, after I had commanded Pikachu to use Iron Tail and hold it for as long as possible. "Only three metals can be magnetized; Iron, Nickel and Cobalt. The most common method of doing so," I continued, while flicking Pikachu's cheeks in order to create electricity, "Is to run an electric current through the metal."

I swept Pikachu's metal tail through the slot and the elevator doors opened soundlessly.

"Security cards shouldn't work that way," Chad commented, "Each card has a specific 'barcode'."

I shrugged, "I was gonna say that, since Pikachu's tail is still an organic object, although it is made of iron, it can conform to the necessary shape in order to open the door. But in truth," I laughed, "I have no idea how that worked."

We filed into the elevator (it was barely large enough to hold us all), and I went over our battle plan for the second floor.

"This time, there can be no hiding – nowhere _to_ hide. So we've only got one option. When those elevator doors open, we must all launch into full-fledged attacks on however many grunts are in the room. Any objections?"

No-one spoke openly, though I did hear someone give a tiny squeak of terror.

I noticed that my hand was shaking as I reached towards the 'BF2' button inside the elevator.

"_Well, it's too late to go back now,"_ I thought.

And I pressed it.


	4. Chapter 4

We all charged out of the elevator at breakneck speeds, going for the first grunts that we caught sight of (which created quite a few painful situations in which several people targeted the same grunt and ended up colliding with each other).

"Jade!" I heard Travis' voice yell, as I attempted (rather unsuccessfully) to wrestle a heavy-set grunt to the ground. "Pokéballs! That way!" he pointed left.

I slipped away from the grunt and punched him with all my strength in the face before going after the Pokéballs.

Travis was the first to reach them, closely followed by yours truly. We both grabbed one, and threw them, trusting in dumb luck.

Which was stupid.

As I later figured out, the second floor was the floor with the least security wherein they stored Pokéballs. Ergo, they only kept the weakest Pokémon that they would sell for the cheapest prices. Which, in turn, meant that we were left with horrible Pokémon (Travis had a Metapod, whereas I was left with a Paras).

I had nothing in the way of pure offensive power, but I had intelligence and tactics on my side.

I could defeat all the Team Rocket grunts with one move, but I didn't want to attack my allies as well (which I would have done, if I'd gone with my original plan).

"Alright guys," I announced, picking up my Paras to protect him, "We need to all gather in one place."

"Why – " someone began to ask.

"No time to explain!" I yelled impatiently.

It only took a couple of minutes for me to implement my plan – once we were all gathered in one place, surrounded by grunts, I knew I had to act fast (or else we would all get shot – it really wasn't a pleasant thought).

I chucked Paras into the air behind the grunts and yelled out, "Stun Spore!"

Wherever the tiny yellow particles touched their skin, the grunts would freeze, completely paralysed. I made sure that the attack only touched the grunts and not us (hence why I had gathered us all in one place; if we were still dispersed throughout the room, I would have ended up paralysing us all).

"Ok, Paras," I said, when I saw that every single grunt had been dealt with, "You can stop now."

Paras promptly did and once I was sure that all the spores had settled, I gave the signal for us to march over to the Pokéballs, where we carefully checked them for any of our Pokémon (we decided that we would come back later to retrieve the other Pokéballs in order to return the Pokémon to their respective owners after we'd dealt with the grunts on the other floors).

The only Pokémon of ours we were able to find was Deonaé's Wobbuffet. That's it. And while this made Deonaé quite happy, it wasn't great news for the rest of us.

"_Great,"_ I thought,_ "we now have _two_ useless Pokémon."_

As we walked back to the elevator, I fingered the solitary Pokéball in my belt, regretting that I hadn't had a chance to use the awesome power that was Nidoking.

"_I knew we would be fighting indoors," _I lamented, _"But I had no idea that it would be _this _cramped!"_

As the doors of the elevator started to close (we had opened the doors using the same method as the first floor, and it had worked again, despite Chad's adamant proclamations of, "Security cards don't work that way!") I yelled to Paras, "Keep doing that Stun Spore! Make them _pay_ for what they did to you!"

"Paaaaras," Paras replied, saluting me with one claw – he seemed to be positively enjoying making those grunts suffer.

Once inside, I noticed something odd about the elevator buttons. I wasn't sure if perhaps I was seeing things, so I checked again. And again. And a third time, just to be sure.

Until finally, Travis got fed up with waiting and said, "Just push a button already!"

"Our plan involves going through each floor systematically," I replied, trying to wrap my head around these odd buttons.

"Riiiiight…"

"Well, how can I do that, if those buttons say what they do?" I asked indignantly, pointing accusingly to the buttons in question.

After everyone had inspected them, they immediately saw the problem.

There was no 'BF3' button.

And it hadn't been taken away, either, because the button panel was perfectly intact.

"Maybe," Michael said, "Team Rocket is superstitious, and didn't include a third floor?"

I reckoned that he deserved a whack on the head for his lack of knowledge about superstitions, and I was glad to provide it.

"Three is a _lucky_ number, you utter ignoramus!"

As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I realised the importance of what I had just uttered.

"Maybe you're right... maybe Team Rocket _is_ superstitious!"

I tried to pace up and down (as stated earlier, pacing helps me think), but couldn't as the elevator was too cramped, so I ended up bouncing from one person to another, rather like a pinball.

"Could you please explain what the hell you are talking about," Jondré requested after a few minutes, "to all of us non-geniuses?"

"Non-genii," I automatically corrected him, "Maybe they thought that the third floor was the best place to keep the strongest, most valuable Pokémon…"

"Like my Dragonair?" Travis asked excitedly.

"Right. Like your Dragonair. You cannot access it from the elevator, so presumably there's another way. I didn't see any stairs on the second floor? Did any of you?"

They all shook their heads.

"In that case," I mused, "You must be able to access it from the fourth floor." And so I promptly pushed the 'BF4' button.

* * *

This time, I decided to leave myself out of the fighting completely, and go on a hunt for Pokéballs. I really wanted to take part in the battle, but figured that I couldn't without my Pokémon. (At least, I couldn't _win_ without my Pokémon.)

So, I was relying on the others to distract the grunts so that they wouldn't shoot at me.

No such luck.

I was shot at twice before I even made it halfway across the room, and twice again as I made a swift retreat.

Only a combination of the grunt's horrible aiming and mad dodging skills kept me alive.

"Well," I said, as I dived behind a pile of metal crates, "That went badly."

I then jumped as Amy, who was also hiding behind the crates with me, screamed rather loudly.

"Are you trying to give me a heart attack?"

I then became aware of a slight twinge in my left arm. I looked down – and froze in shock.

It turns out that I hadn't come out completely unscathed, as I had previously thought. A bullet had grazed my left arm and blood was slowly trickling downwards. It wasn't a lot of blood; I didn't even hurt very much, but it infuriated me. It was then I realised how despicable Team Rocket really was; they would kill a fellow human being without a second thought. Of course, I had known this from the very start, but there is a vast difference between merely knowing something and actually understanding it.

I had heard tales of the awesome effects adrenalin can have on the human body, but one cannot truly comprehend it until one has experienced it first-hand.

Before I knew what I was doing, I rushed forward, not caring that more bullets were grazing me, and grabbed the gun of the first grunt that I saw. I then proceeded to throw it at another grunt's head, while simultaneously kicking the first grunt's feet out from under him.

By the time both had dropped to the floor, unconscious, I had more or less regained my calm. That is, I could think clearly again; clearly enough to resume my search for Pokéballs, but I still had enough adrenalin in my veins to give me a ridiculously high pain threshold.

I grabbed Pokéballs in each hand (they were really not that hard to find) and started throwing wildly, neither noticing nor caring what Pokémon I was unleashing.

That is, until I found my Sandslash.

My first reaction was, of course, unadulterated joy. But then it changed to anger; how _dare_ those dirty Rockets classify Sandy with the mediocre Pokés?!

Honestly, it was only common sense (I _really_ did not want to go to jail) that kept me from ordering Sandslash to massacre those Rockets. (I knew she was quite capable of doing so; I've seen those claws do some serious slashing.)

Instead I yelled, "Destrrrrrrrrroy their guns, Sandy!" (I may have savoured the "r" sound a bit much in my fervour to get revenge.)

She leapt into the air, completely ignoring the multiple gunshot wounds she was recieving. The guns were no match for her long, gleaming claws and they fell to the floor with a clatter in countless pieces. Soon every grunt in the room was without a weapon, some of them clutching their bleeding hands where Sandy had been particularly ferocious.

Michael said, "That was…"

"Unexpected? Magnificent?" I supplied a few adjectives.

"…Unfair," he finished. "_I'm_ the ninja here. _I'm_ the one who cuts things up into tiny pieces. Got that?" He addressed the last remark to my Sandslash, poking his sword menacingly at her back.

"Slaaaaash…" she replied tiredly, before toppling over onto her snout.

Michael hurriedly sheathed his sword.  
"Did I kill it?"

"Her," I corrected him, giving him a smack on the head for his idiocy, "And no. She's just tired."

I didn't say it as I returned her to her Pokéball, but some of those gunshot wounds looked pretty severe. Probably the adrenalin had kept her standing until the pain and fatigue had simply become too much.

And I became forcefully reminded that the same could apply to humans, as my personal supply of adrenalin wore out and the combined force of my multiple wounds brought me to my knees.

I didn't understand; I hadn't suffered any serious wounds… Well, that's what I thought.

However, as I struggled to my feet, putting my hand on my knee for balance, my fingers touched something warm. Slowly, I lifted my hand up and saw blood.

I soon deduced that the wound was located on my upper right thigh. It wasn't really a _serious_ wound, as such, but it was the one wound I had suffered where a bullet had actually pierced through my flesh, instead of just grazing me.

As I was struggling to my feet, attempting to walk without any aid, one of the grunts noticed my weakness and pulled out a tiny pistol that no-one had noticed up until that point.

He aimed it at me (probably because I was the owner of the Sandslash that had caused him so much humiliation) and pulled the trigger. I knew that, even if my leg had been in full working condition, I wouldn't be able to dodge a bullet that had been fired from five metres away. I tried to at least move into a position that would cause a non-fatal injury, but I didn't have much hope.

And then Michael's sword flashed through the air and the bullet was split neatly down the middle.

No-one made a sound.

"Told you I'm the one who slices things up around here," Michael stated.


End file.
